I'm madly jealous of my husband's other woman, his MOTHER

One day, I was driving my elder son home from nursery when he pointed out of the window to a house. 'That's where we'll live when I grow up,' he trilled. 'Who? You and your wife?' I asked innocently.

Four-year-old Zeke looked horrified. 'No, you and me,' he said firmly. 'My wife will live on the bottom floor with Daddy. You and I will be on the top floor together.'

My heart leapt. I thought of this phantom daughter-in-law banished to
the basement and stewing with jealousy, while I reigned supreme in my
son's affections for ever and ever, and I smiled smugly.

When in-laws become outlaws: Jane Fonda and Jennifer Lopez in the film Monster-in-Law

But even as that wicked little thought crept into my head, I knew it wouldn't be that way. It won't be his wife who's thrown out into the cold. It will be me. And won't my daughter-in-law revel in rubbing my nose in it?

Just the thought of it sends me into paroxysms of a kind of envy that is uncomfortable to admit.

I am haunted by the vision of this pretty young girl, snuggling up to my son and casting a dismissive eye over my crow's feet and thick waist.

When I phone, she will do a horribly accurate impression of me and sneer while my forlorn voice begs to the answering machine: 'Please darling, give your mother a call, just so that I know you're all right.'

How do I know all this? Because this is exactly how I treated my own lovely mother-in-law. I was insanely jealous of her simply because - like every mother - she was my husband's first love. And for years and years I needed to prove to myself, and to her, that he loved me best.

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My mother-in-law, Sharon, is a charming, level-headed woman. Though she loves both her sons, she certainly isn't unhealthily besotted with my husband, Michael, and has always welcomed me. But from the moment I met her, I felt we were in competition for her son's affections. She did nothing to start this rivalry. I did it all myself.

The simple truth is that common sense vanishes when a wife comes up against her husband's mother. It's as though battling with your mother-in-law is an inevitable part of marriage.

It may sound unbelievable, but I'm convinced I'm only voicing what most wives feel. It's simply that most of us are too ashamed to admit it - even to ourselves.

It seems so undignified, so mean and so irrational. But this tug-o-fwar is as old as time. It's the stuff of sitcom jokes and Greek tragedy. Two women - decades apart - vie over the favours of a man who often doesn't realise a battle is being fought over him

The warning signs were there as soon as Michael and I started seeing each other - I felt deeply territorial about him. Madly in love, I was greedy to know every last detail of his life before we met. But, when he told me about his childhood, instead of cooing appreciatively, I felt an ugly envy.

'The simple truth is that common sense vanishes when a wife comes up
against her husband's mother. It's as though battling with your
mother-in-law is an inevitable part of marriage'

This had been 'special' time that Michael shared only with his mother. These were the years when she had been the most important woman in his life. And I felt an irrational, all-consuming jealousy.

Bizarrely, I've always liked Sharon and, on the surface, we've got on brilliantly. We're both lawyers, we both love gossip. We share the same taste in books and theatre.

Temperamentally, however, we are polar opposites. Sharon is cool, placid and undemonstrative. I wear my heart on my sleeve.

I should have been reassured that we were so different. Instead, I was baffled. What did Michael see in me? How could he love two women who are so different?

Subtly, and without even realising it, I insinuated myself between Michael and his mother. I began complaining about her.

'How can you stand her being so stand-offish? Surely it drives you crazy?' I'd ask him meanly.

I made a point of holding his hand when she was around. I found myself talking about 'we' and 'us' as a snide way of excluding her. 'We loved that film,' I'd crow. Or: 'That's our favourite restaurant. We'll take you next time.'

It was all to prove that her son and I were a unit, and she - poor, abandoned woman - was on the outside. Of course, I never admitted what I was doing. And I don't think Sharon realised. Or if she did, she was far too nice to say anything.

Like most husbands, Michael did his best to keep us both happy. But he was baffled.

Sharon is his mother. I'm his wife. As far as he was concerned, they are two different relationships. Why on earth should I feel in competition? Then our first child, Sophie, was born and something began to change. It was a gradual shift that took me a while to notice.

But when I became the mother of Michael's children - there were three more to follow - I began almost imperceptibly to relax. There was no question any more. My children and I were the primary family in Michael's life.

The competition was finally over. After five years all the antagonism I felt for Sharon evaporated.

Once I was sure of my power I could give in. At last we could be friends.

But the real turning point came about six years ago. I invited Sharon on holiday with us. I admit it wasn't totally out of kindness - with four children to entertain, I thought Granny would be useful.

And - true to form - she was utterly brilliant. Suddenly, I appreciated the qualities I used to sneer at: Sharon was unflappable, firm and kind. One afternoon, we were sitting side by side on matching sun loungers. My son Abe - who was just under a year - snuggled against me, his cheek on my chest.

He smelled deliciously of coconut sunscreen and the strawberries he'd had for lunch. As I kissed the top of his tousled head, I looked up to see Sharon gazing at me. And I knew instantly what she was thinking. She was delighted by the maternal bond.

But something else was giving her the tiniest bit of satisfaction - the prospect that one day I will be doing battle with my son's wife, just as I had done battle with her. And I, too, was going to be defeated.

I wouldn't be in my future daughters-in-law's shoes. I almost pity the young women who will attempt to separate me from my sons.

They will need a crowbar, two bulldozers and then half a dozen Molotov cocktails. But although I'll put up a good fight, I know I'm going to lose.